Words Spoken in Anger
by elag
Summary: At Netherfield, Elizabeth is finally provoked to anger. A glimpse at the consequences, as a few of our favourite characters speak their mind. Full story now available on Kobo and Amazon Kindle. Author: Margaret Gale. I have left the first two chapters, which were originally written as a two-shot, here for you to enjoy.
1. Chapter 1

Elizabeth immediately regretted her temper, but by the time she cooled enough to be rational, she was half way to Oakham Mount.

She had stormed out of Netherfield in a most unladylike manner, slamming the front door behind her, and set off down the drive and into the woods at a near run.

That woman truly was insufferable! Intolerable! Unbearable!

Elizabeth had vowed to herself that she would not rise to the bait, no matter how provoking Caroline Bingley was. It was never a good idea to speak when angry. It was more important to be able to care for poor Jane than to satisfy her own desire to give their hostess the set down she deserved. So she had swallowed her pride and restrained herself to firing the sort of witty arrows that gave some small relief to her feelings while passing so far beyond Miss Bingley's comprehension as to leave no mark on that lady.

But Elizabeth had been trapped in that house for nigh on a week, subject to daily humiliations necessitated by biting her tongue in that woman's presence. This morning had just been too much to bear, and Elizabeth's temper had snapped.

She would have to go back, of course. Perhaps she could slip in the back entrance and take the servants' corridors up to Jane's room. She need never show her face downstairs again. But no, she knew that would never do. However unfair it was, propriety demanded that she apologise to her hostess and try to make her peace.

Ha! She kicked a stone into the long grass. To apologise to that harridan! To make peace with that harpy! Impossible!

Elizabeth stomped about some more, until she had worked off her anger. The effect was somewhat diminished by the fact that she had rushed out of the house in her dress slippers, rather than changing into walking boots. Even so, she attracted the startled attention of several cows and a rabbit, though luckily no human observers had been privy to her display of pique. Her display of temper would go unremarked.

Other than by the five occupants of the Netherfield Park sitting room, that is.

She _had_ tried. She truly had. She had left Jane sleeping, and come downstairs with her embroidery to sit quietly and avoid notice. All the residents of Netherfield had been gathered in the sitting room: Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy were discussing some new gun that Bingley hoped to purchase on his next visit to town. Mrs Hurst was reading a letter while her husband dozed quietly next to her on a sofa. Caroline Bingley had been sitting at a small desk to one side of the room, but clearly her attention had wandered from her correspondence and she was looking about in hope of something more interesting.

On Elizabeth's entry, Caroline's eyes had brightened in anticipation. She barely gave Elizabeth time to be seated and take up her needle before she addressed her. "Miss Eliza, it is good to see you practicing your stitches. A lady with few accomplishments must constantly practice those she has."

Elizabeth bit back a sharp riposte, simply bowing her head toward Miss Bingley and continuing with her work.

Caroline was dissatisfied with such a sedate response, and tried again: "It is such a shame your mother did not send you more dresses. I am sure it must be a disappointment to wear such a dowdy dress three times in five days, but I suppose you must be used to making do."

Elizabeth coloured. She was indeed wearing the same dress she had worn twice before since her arrival to care for Jane. It was hardly dowdy – it happened to be her favourite walking dress of white muslin embroidered with a cheerful pattern of yellow flowers – and it had been well laundered by the Netherfield staff. She would rather have had more gowns at her disposal, and it hurt that Caroline was right: Mrs Bennet had not bothered to send a proper selection of clothes for her least favourite daughter, (although she _had_ sent six gowns for Jane, who had not yet managed to leave her bedroom). It was no surprise that Caroline Bingley, with her seemingly endless supply of garish, ugly, over-decorated gowns, had noticed Elizabeth wearing the same gown once more. She had fully expected to be the subject of a sneer or two, perhaps a rolling of eyes. But Elizabeth had not imagined that even Caroline would be so rude as to actually _comment_ on the fact. It was beyond all good manners, for her to talk about another lady's wardrobe so. What could she mean by it but to humiliate her guest?

Elizabeth kept her eyes on her needlework until she had calmed her initial outrage. Eventually, she felt enough in command of herself to raise her eyes to her interlocutor and say mildly, "I thank you for your sympathy, Miss Bingley. Indeed having been invited so unexpectedly to stay and care for Jane, and not knowing how long I would be needed, I was unable to pack as I might have preferred. Still, your staff have been most helpful in ensuring I can make the best of the limited resources I have with me."

Caroline visibly relished Elizabeth's discomfort. She smiled, looking for all the world like a cat with a mouse. And like that animal, she could not resist further taunting her victim. She ostentatiously leaned a little closer and simulated a whisper, but at such a volume it could be clearly heard throughout the room: "Why Eliza, dear, you should have _said_ something. I'm sure one of my old gowns would have served. You are so very short and rather round in places, but I am sure something could have been altered to fit you." All other conversation ceased, and five pairs of eyes were trained on Elizabeth, waiting to see her response to this provocation – four in surprised curiosity and one with malicious glee.

Elizabeth had stabbed her finger with her needle, such was her anger. She hardly knew which part of Miss Bingley's speech to most resent – that she was offered that lady's hand-me-downs, that she would consider dressing in any of the tasteless, gaudy confections that woman chose to wear, that she was short and dumpy, that wearing her own, perfectly presentable dress a third time was evidence of poverty, or that all of this had been drawn to the attention of everyone in the room. She drew several deep breaths and counted to ten. Then she counted to ten again. Her temper still simmering, she managed to say, "You are all kindness, Miss Bingley. I see you are a model of good manners in a hostess. But I must decline your generous offer. I have sufficient gowns for my needs, and will soon be returning to Longbourne, I am sure. There is no need to put your staff out with altering any of your remarkable dresses."

Caroline narrowed her eyes. She was certain this reply bordered on insolent, but she could not quite put her finger on how. Intent on gaining the upper hand in the conversation, she shifted ground to say, "If you prefer the same gowns day after day, then I suppose I must humour you. I must say, though, Eliza, as one friend to another, that you look very ill indeed. You must be working yourself to the bone in caring for dear Jane. You really should let the servants perform their office, my dear. It is not seemly to be playing the part of nursemaid at all hours of the day and night."

And that was when Elizabeth had finally lost her temper. For Caroline to needle her was unpleasant, but she had always been able to laugh such taunts off eventually. But to suggest that it was improper for her to care for Jane – that was going too far. How could anyone begrudge the work of caring for a most beloved sister? How could showing tender care for Jane in her time of need be in any way improper? To say that Elizabeth should abandon her post and leave her sister to the indifferent care of servants was outrageous. It was not to be borne!

Elizabeth had put down her embroidery and risen to her feet. Although Caroline Bingley was several inches the taller, Elizabeth's rage lent her stature and she glared at her tormentor as though she was a full head higher. "Miss Bingley, let me be plain. A true gentlewoman would never hesitate to nurse anyone in her household who was taken ill. Since no woman in your family would extend such care to my sister, I came to perform the office myself. It is no burden. It is my joy to bring her comfort and affection during her affliction. Your suggestion that I abandon her to the care of servants merely to save myself from the unpleasantness of the sick room confirms my opinion that you are the most selfish, arrogant, heartless woman of my acquaintance!"

As she heard the words spill from her mouth, Elizabeth knew that she had burnt all her bridges with the Netherfield party, probably destroying Jane's chances with Mr Bingley in the process. Appalled at her own lack of control, she glanced around the room to see Mr Bingley shocked into silence, Louisa Hurst flushed red and staring at her, and the usually inscrutable Mr Darcy eyeing the scene with undisguised anger. Hurst had not stirred.

Elizabeth's anger now turned on herself. To have behaved so in front of her host and his guests – to have demonstrated to the proud Mr Darcy just how far beneath him she really was – to have allowed Caroline Bingley the satisfaction of provoking her to anger… Oh! It was all too much. With a final glare at Miss Bingley, Elizabeth had turned on her heel and stalked from the room and the house without a further word.

And now here she was, on the verge of tears, wondering how she could ever face any of them again. Mr Bingley, of course, would be his usual gracious self and would probably pretend nothing had happened. Miss Bingley would be intolerably smug and superior. And Mr Darcy would stare at her disdainfully, confirmed in all his beliefs of her inadequacy. Not only was Elizabeth not handsome enough to tempt that gentleman to dance, she was now proved to be a shrew and a termagant, who could not behave with proper decorum any more than her wild younger sisters.

Her humiliation was complete.

But Elizabeth Bennet had a stubbornness about her that could not bear to be frightened at the will of others. Her courage rose at every attempt to intimidate her. Even now, when her embarrassment was entirely attributable to her own actions, she would not let the thought of Miss Bingley's triumph or Mr Darcy's disgust keep her from doing what was right. She must return to the house.

But not immediately.

Elizabeth turned her steps towards the gardens. She would walk a little longer on those calming paths before trusting her temper to another encounter with the lady of the house. Perhaps quiet contemplation would help her frame a passingly sincere apology? She could only hope so.

She had only passed a few minutes indulging in the peace of the rose garden when her attention was caught by the sound of voices from behind a hedge. She might have stolen away, her slippers silent on the grassy path, had she not been arrested by Mr Darcy's deep tones: "Really Charles, it is intolerable. You are master here. You must take action. Such rudeness is not acceptable from a gentlewoman. You cannot continue to allow her to live under your roof while she behaves so!"

Elizabeth could hardly disagree with Mr Darcy's sentiments, but even so, she was mortified to hear herself so described. Unlike his earlier insult toward her, this time he was entirely right. She felt tears prick her eyes.

She had reconciled herself to the evidence that he thought himself above the people of her neighborhood. She had even accustomed herself to the fact that Mr Darcy did not think her handsome. But until hearing him condemn her character in such unequivocal terms, and on such just grounds, she had not realized quite how much she wished that gentleman thought better of her than he did.

"I know it is bad, Darcy, but what am I to do? I can hardly throw her out with nowhere to go!" Bingley sounded plaintive.

That was a bit melodramatic, even for Bingley. If he threw her out, it would be a public humiliation indeed, but she would simply return to Longbourne. Why ever would he describe her as having nowhere to go?

Darcy sighed, "I care not a whit where she might go, Charles. Your sister has crossed the line this time. You have endured her rudeness for years, but I have never seen such unbecoming conduct as her display this morning."

Elizabeth reeled. Mr Darcy spoke of Charles's sister, not of her. His anger was directed at Caroline Bingley! No doubt he thought quite as badly of her – after all, she had allowed herself to be dragged down to Caroline's level and had responded in kind. Even in the midst of her own humiliation, however, Elizabeth was not above taking some small pleasure in knowing that Caroline had blotted her copybook with the rich gentleman from Derbyshire.

Darcy continued, and Elizabeth pictured him pacing angrily before his friend, "I have told you for years, Charles, that you needed to curb Caroline's conduct. But she surpassed herself with her rudeness today." Elizabeth might have behaved like a guttersnipe in the sitting room, but she was too much of a lady to feel comfortable eavesdropping any further on the gentlemen's conversation. She had just resolved to tiptoe away when once again her attention was fixed by the mention of her own name: "Miss Elizabeth is everything ladylike. She has carried herself with grace and dignity under almost constant provocation from your sister, has endured Caroline's daily attacks for the sake of Miss Bennet, and has maintained wit and good humour in the face of petty spitefulness. I cannot imagine how she managed to keep her temper so long. I have nothing but admiration for her, and am grieved that we allowed things to go so far that she could bear it no longer."

This was too much. Mr Darcy expressing admiration and sympathy for her? Not for her looks, obviously. He had made his view about that clear at the assembly. But he admired her character! To say that she was astounded could not begin to express her surprise. Now quite rooted to the spot, Elizabeth listened on.

Bingley answered in depressed tones, "It was not your responsibility, Darcy. She is _my_ sister, and I was a cad not to call her to order sooner. How will Miss Elizabeth ever forgive me?"

"If you hope to have any luck with her sister, Charles, you must make Caroline apologise and ensure she ceases her campaign against the Bennet sisters."

"Campaign against the Bennet sisters! Whatever do you mean?" Mr Bingley was clearly shocked at the idea. "I know she has taken some stupid dislike to Miss Elizabeth, but Caroline has said nothing against Miss Bennet. I am sure she thinks of her as a dear friend."

"Wake up, man. Did you not hear her mention that neither Miss Bennet nor Miss Elizabeth could hope to marry men of any consideration in the world? Have you not heard her rail against their family and connections? Has she not reminded us of their relatives in Cheapside more often than you can count? Her protestations of an excessive regard for Jane Bennet are always tempered with words designed to discourage _you_ from any serious consideration of her. Her pretense of friendship merely allows her to control your contact with Miss Bennet. Think, man, what day did she choose to invite Miss Bennet for tea? The day you would be dining out. Don't be more of a fool than you need to be. I know it is a hard thing to mistrust your sister, but she is not being honest with you, Charles." Here Darcy took another deep breath, apparently reining himself in, and returned to the issue at hand. "In any case, you must agree her behavior towards Miss Elizabeth was unconscionable. You are the master of the house and the head of your family. Your guest has been badly treated by your sister. We all heard Caroline say things which no gentlewoman should ever say to a guest, let alone to a friend, and we stood by, too shocked to do anything but watch until Miss Elizabeth left the room. You are responsible for fixing this. I can offer advice, but _you_ must act. If it was my sister, she'd be shipped off to Pemberley before the day was out."

"If I threatened Caroline with Pemberley, she'd hardly see it as punishment!" Mr Bingley laughed nervously. "But I take your point. Perhaps a sojourn with our relatives in Scarborough would be beneficial. Hurst and Louisa could go with her. Good riddance to the lot of them!"

"Hold a moment, friend. If you send the Hursts packing too, you will have no hostess. How do you propose to further your acquaintance with the eldest Miss Bennet if you cannot invite them to Netherfield?"

Elizabeth had heard enough. As the men's voices faded into the distance, she sank to a nearby bench to consider all she had learned.

Astoundingly, her display of temper was _not_ held in scorn by Mr Darcy or Mr Bingley. Instead, they had commended her forbearance in enduring as much as she had. The relief was considerable.

And all her suspicions about Mr Bingley's interest in Jane had been confirmed. There had been no mention of a definite intention on that gentleman's part, but certainly there was a most pleasing inclination. Now he had been alerted to the likely interference of his sisters against the match, he would go so far as to exile Miss Bingley to protect herself and Jane. Elizabeth was pleased indeed, and resolved to keep Jane at Netherfield Park a day or two longer should it be at all possible without outright lying about her state of recovery. No sooner had this plan formed in her mind than she rolled her eyes at her own thoughts: perhaps she was turning into her mother! Well, chastening as that idea was, it did not dissuade her from doing whatever she could in the service of Jane, for she knew her sister truly admired Mr Bingley. They should have a chance to know each other better. There could be no harm in that.

As for Mr Darcy's comments about Elizabeth, they were far more confusing. She had earlier thought his anger all directed at herself, but clearly she had been wrong. It was Miss Bingley alone who had raised his ire. Her conduct _had_ been despicable, but Elizabeth had been far from expecting Mr Darcy to see it that way. From the very first, he had looked at Elizabeth with an intense stare that she could only presume meant he was studying her with the hope of finding fault. But now, in light of her discovery that he found her admirable, she had to revise that conclusion. If it was not a look of disdain, then what did it portend? What could that gentleman mean by gazing at her in such a fixed manner? She could not make it out.

Elizabeth turned these questions over in her mind for near half an hour, getting no closer to an answer. Eventually, she roused herself. There was nothing for it but to return to the house. She would extend her apology to Miss Bingley: little as that woman deserved it, it was the proper thing to do. Caroline Bingley was apparently about to suffer a reprimand at her brother's hand. Perhaps an example of how a lady _ought_ to rise above adversity might help her learn how to act in future. Elizabeth snorted in disbelief. She could not imagine Caroline Bingley accepting that anyone called Bennet could teach her anything. Elizabeth would tender her apology, Caroline would be everything cold and insincere, and they would continue to cordially despise each other.

She did, after all, steal in the back way. She visited Jane, who was still sleeping peacefully, changed her now-damp slippers for a fresh pair, and made her way back to the sitting room. She paused in the corridor to take a fortifying breath, before nodding to the footman to open the door. She managed to enter calmly, as though everything was normal. Bingley and Darcy had returned before her, and there was an artificial quiet as she entered.

It was like walking on stage in a play where she did not know the lines. Had Bingley already spoken to his sister? Had Caroline been warned to improve her behavior? If so, would she control herself, or choose to defy her brother? Did Hurst and Louisa have any idea what was going on? What role would Mr Darcy play? He was only a guest, but one who apparently had plenty to say while he and Bingley were off-stage!

She might not have a script, but Elizabeth knew the first lines must be hers. She turned to Caroline Bingley and nodded her head slightly. That lady did not deign to acknowledge the gesture, but Elizabeth said what she ought, however little it was appreciated. "Miss Bingley, I apologise for my words earlier. I should not have lost my temper, and I should not have spoken so rudely to my hostess. I hope you will forgive me."

Caroline Bingley finally turned her gaze to Elizabeth. Her eyes were red-rimmed and it was clear she had been crying. "Miss Elizabeth Bennet," she said quietly, "Your apology is accepted. In return, I hope you will forgive _me_ for speaking to you as I did. I meant no harm." At this prevarication, her brother loudly cleared his throat from across the room, and Caroline's eyes darted to his stern visage before she looked back to Elizabeth and added, "I should not have been rude to a guest, and I _do_ apologise most sincerely."

Elizabeth doubted the apology came from any true contrition, but it _was_ an apology. Elizabeth would not sink to Caroline's level by reveling in her embarrassment. With another polite nod, she replied: "It is forgotten." Saying nothing more, she returned to the seat she had abandoned so precipitously not an hour before, and took up her embroidery again.

After a few minutes, Mr Bingley crossed the room to ask after Jane's health. She was able to give a positive report: her sister was sleeping calmly and seemed to be past the worst of her illness. His pleasure at this news was transparent, and he expressed his best wishes for her recovery with a warmth and enthusiasm that could only further endear him to Elizabeth. When his inquiries were followed by those of his friend, Elizabeth managed to reply with commendable composure that yes, her sister was on the mend. When Mr Darcy followed up with an earnest "And I hope _you_ are well, Miss Elizabeth," she granted him a smile unalloyed by the sarcasm that had marked her previous interactions with the gentleman and acknowledged that she was indeed quite well. Mr Darcy realised, although she did not, that this was the first genuine smile she had ever directed toward him. He retreated to his corner looking a little flustered, and resumed his habit of watching Miss Elizabeth Bennet from afar.

Conversation gradually returned to the room. Caroline and Louisa spoke of travel arrangements, and it soon emerged that Miss Bingley had decided to visit an elderly aunt in Yorkshire. She planned to depart the next morning, so eager was she for the journey. Elizabeth said all that was proper in the way of hopes for fine weather and good roads but could not bring herself to express regret at losing the lady's company so soon.

Once Caroline left the room – to begin packing, she said – Louisa Hurst exerted herself to converse with Elizabeth. She had nothing of interest to say – she spoke of fashion, weather, and the balls she had attended last season – but her attempt to offer an olive branch appeared sincere. Elizabeth managed to turn the conversation to matters she found a little more interesting by asking about Mr Hurst's estate (near Leicester: it had some pretty sheep, although Louisa could not say what breed, and the neighboring villages offered little in the way of shopping) and Louisa's tastes in music (which turned out to be a subject she could talk on with a modicum of sense for quite some time). After a half hour of listening to Mrs Hurst expound on the relative merits of Herrs Bach, Haydn, Mozart and Beethoven, Elizabeth was glad to excuse herself to check on Jane. She was a little surprised, but not displeased, when Louisa offered to accompany her. While she would never choose Louisa Hurst for a particular friend, she was not above making an effort to know the woman who might yet be Jane's sister. Far better to endure Louisa's insipid conversation than to suffer Caroline's condescending scorn.

Jane was indeed feeling much better and was enthusiastic about joining the assembled company for dinner. Louisa watched the cheerful banter between Jane and Elizabeth as the latter helped her sister rise and ready herself for the evening. Mrs Hurst had never experienced such ease with her own sister, and would not have thought to help Caroline don her gown or dress her hair. Yet these Bennet sisters thought nothing of it! They were daughters of a gentleman, born to a higher station than Louisa and her sister, and in the sitting room today she had seen how Miss Elizabeth maintained her dignity under one attack after another, before eventually giving Caroline the set-down she deserved. It had been obvious which of them was the true lady. Louisa began to think that her life might improve to have such sisters in it.

Jane, unaware of the drama that had played out downstairs, was pleased to see the increased ease between the two. Elizabeth's animosity toward Mr Bingley's sisters had concerned her, for she could not relish a future in which her dearest sister was always at odds with her husband's family. She blushed slightly to catch herself thinking of Mr Bingley in such terms, but after all, while confined to her sickbed she had had little to do but daydream about the handsome gentleman in whose house she was lying ill. If she did harbor a _tendre_ for him, she was too much the gentlewoman to embarrass either of them with an open display of her affection. She would wait for him to make his interest clear before revealing her own heart.

But she very much looked forward to renewing her acquaintance with him and seeing if he measured up to the image she had been entertaining through her feverish nights and listless days.

When the three women entered the sitting room, Mr Bingley immediately attended Miss Bennet, ushering her to a warm seat near the fire and urging her to take a little wine. He settled in the nearest chair, his focus entirely on her comfort. Elizabeth smiled to see his negligent manners toward herself and Mrs Hurst: she had never seen a more promising inclination. Louisa joined her husband and began to speak quietly to him. Unoffended by the lack of a formal welcome from Bingley, Elizabeth moved toward a sofa near the window. Mr Darcy quickly crossed from his post at the side of the room to greet her and ask after her sister's health.

"She is as you see, sir. Still a little delicate, perhaps, but definitely on the mend. Jane has such a gentle nature that she makes an ideal patient, but even she was impatient to leave the confines of the sickroom, and I could not deny her the pleasure of some better company than her impertinent sister."

"I am glad to see her so improved. It must be a relief to you." The gentleman then lowered his voice to speak for her ears only. "Miss Elizabeth, I apologise for failing to intervene earlier today when Miss Bingley was behaving so rudely. I was at first too amazed by her blatant insults to know how to act, and by the time I had gathered my wits, I did not wish to embarrass you further by showing that her insults had been overheard. But that was cowardice. I should have done something to stop her. Forgive me for my inaction."

Elizabeth hardly knew how to answer him. She was pleased by his consideration, but uneasy about canvassing such a topic, especially here where they might be overheard by Miss Bingley's family. Nevertheless, some response was necessary. Now that she knew the gentleman did not despise her, she would not reject such an overture of friendship. She quietly replied, "There is nothing to forgive, sir. Miss Bingley is not your responsibility. I only regret that I allowed her to needle me. I should not have lost my composure. To deride my hostess, no matter how much she provoked it, was not the action of a gentlewoman. My temper can be too unyielding, I fear. I deeply regret my outburst. I am not usually so intemperate. Impertinent, I may be, and my mother is fond of calling me wild, but I _do_ know how to comport myself in public better than my conduct today might lead you to believe."

Darcy smiled at her self-deprecation. "Surely you are too hard on yourself. You displayed remarkable composure today in the face of extreme provocation. I would have lost my temper in half the time, and would doubtless have repaid her ill manners by saying something far more regrettable than you did. What did you say of her that she did not deserve? I believe it will do Miss Bingley some good to learn how little her manners are suited to polite society. Many have tried to correct her in more subtle ways, and she has never taken the hint. I think, on reflection, that we must all be thankful to you, Miss Elizabeth, for having the fortitude to speak to her so plainly."

Elizabeth laughed lightly. "What will be the moral if I am to be commended for behaving badly, sir? You must allow me to regret my outburst. Whether this particular storm cloud will turn out to have a silver lining or not, only time will tell. For the moment you must forgive me if I think more on the rain and thunder it has brought than any possible future benefit."

Darcy nodded in acquiescence, but she could see that he was about to defend her conduct again, so she spoke quickly to forestall him: "It is said anger is a short madness. I suffered from such madness this afternoon, Mr Darcy, and I blame none but myself for the lapse. I hope I am now sufficiently recovered to be permitted in company again without the risk of being consigned to Bedlam. Please do me the kindness of speaking no further on the subject, and I will know you have forgiven me."

Darcy, delighted to see that Elizabeth had recovered her arch humour, gallantly ceded the argument to the lady. "I am sure you are right, Miss Elizabeth. I would not suspend any pleasure of yours, even if it takes the form of insisting on your right to chastise yourself. Indeed, you are the last person I would think merited Bedlam." He was reluctant for their conversation to end, so cast around for another topic of conversation. "Tell me, do you often quote Horace?"

This time, Elizabeth laughed freely. "You have caught me, sir. I admit to a much greater familiarity with the classics than any proper young lady should have. I must also tell you that I have wasted my youth on studying mathematics and history – subjects which can be of no use to a lady. I had much better have spent the time honing my accomplishments. This accounts for my lack of skill in drawing and the netting of purses, but I own I do not regret the hours spent in my father's library, where I was given free rein to read whatever I chose. My poor mother despairs of my ever catching a husband, but at least I will be able to teach my sisters' children to read Greek and Latin!"

This was an image that confused Darcy: he found it both disturbing and beguiling. The thought of Elizabeth surrounded by children was a charming one, but the idea of her as a spinster aunt did not sit well with him. Shaking off his distraction, he attempted to maintain the light-hearted tone she had striven for. "Those are unusual accomplishments indeed, Miss Elizabeth. It may come as a surprise to your mother, however, to learn that some gentlemen are much more likely to be caught by intelligent conversation than by a well-netted purse! I do not think you need resign yourself to the role of maiden aunt just yet."

Elizabeth was delighted with Mr Darcy's manner. She had not thought him capable of such banter. She replied in kind, "If you know any such gentlemen, Mr Darcy, please do send them to Hertfordshire. I assure you they are thin on the ground in these parts."

Darcy's face clouded at her remark, and she worried that he thought her comment smacked of mercenary motives. She hurried to assure him, "I speak in jest, sir, and would by no means embarrass you or your friends with such an improper request."

Darcy realised her misapprehension – his expression had given rise to unnecessary anxiety on her part. He was quick to clarify the true reason for his frown, in order to put her mind at rest: "Do not distress yourself. _One_ such gentleman is already here in Hertfordshire. If I looked unhappy, it was only at the thought of any other gentlemen discovering what a treasure you are and stealing you away before you have the chance to know _me_ better."

The words were spoken before he realised that they were as good as a declaration of his intentions. As soon as they had left his lips, Darcy blushed brightly. He had not meant to speak so plainly but he could not regret it. If he had implied an interest in Miss Elizabeth Bennet, it was no more than the truth. He blushed for the timing and manner of his declaration, but not for its content. He would not retract his words.

His anticipation for the lady's response was keen.

That she was surprised was obvious. Her blush matched his and she knew not where to look. Her words, when they came, gave him pause: "Indeed, it seems I do not know you at all, Mr Darcy. You are not at all as I had come to expect. I thought you arrogant and rude, but today you have been quite the opposite."

Darcy's eyes widened at this appraisal, but the lady had not finished: "Forgive me for speaking so bluntly, sir. I seem destined to flout all the rules of propriety today. I would be _pleased_ for the opportunity to know you better, but do not want to lead you to expect more than might come to pass. I am determined that I will only marry if it is a marriage of true affection. How can either of us expect such a thing on such a slight acquaintance? We really know so little of each other. Much as I respect you, I had not had the least thought of you _in that way_. And you know no actual good of me: you may find my impertinence wearing after the novelty passes. On closer acquaintance, you may be happy to cede the field to those other gentlemen after all. Let us agree to spend some time improving our understanding of each other before either says anything we may later come to regret."

Darcy was half enchanted, half amused by this prosaic response to his rash words. She was the first woman he had met who did not rush to flatter him. He could not imagine Caroline Bingley or any of her ilk responding to such a declaration with anything less than triumphant glee – after all, his hand was a much-sought-after prize. But Elizabeth Bennet answered with rational caution.

It was something of a blow to discover that she had not considered him "in that way", and had thought him rude and arrogant. To his chagrin, he realised that, even as he fell further under her spell he had held himself back from engaging with her and simply watched her with intense concentration. Fearing to give rise to expectations, he had presented an inscrutable mask. Far from perceiving his internal struggle against a growing attraction, she had thought him arrogant and rude! Her reservations, while unexpected, were perfectly reasonable.

She had spoken with such an open and disarming manner that he could not take offense. In fact, he found he respected her more for her honesty, and for the fact that she had not set her cap for him. He resolved to work harder to win her regard, for Elizabeth Bennet was truly a prize he would be a fool to pass up.

He bowed in acknowledgment of her decree – she deserved the opportunity to know him better before he asked her to consider his suit – but he could not concede her argument that his interest might waver if he knew her better. "Is there not good in your affectionate care for Miss Bennet while she has been ill? Is there not good in your wit and charm, and the grace with which you have withstood ill-mannered behavior? Is there not good in the strength with which you defended your honour against unfair attack? Miss Elizabeth, the more I see of your character, the more I desire to know you. There is no chance that my regard could fade. I realise that I have not given _you_ the opportunity to understand _me_ in turn. I am perhaps a little shy, but that does not excuse my curmudgeonly conduct of late. I apologise, and promise to be more open in future. I can only hope your opinion of me might improve on better acquaintance."

By now even Bingley had noticed that their intense tête-a-tête had lasted an unusual time. They were standing with their heads close together and speaking in a near whisper, seemingly oblivious to the rest of the room. Although far less domineering than Darcy's aunt, Catherine de Bourgh, Bingley was a social being who hated to miss out on a good conversation. He called out across the room, "What is that you are saying, Darcy? What is it you and Miss Elizabeth are talking of?"

Darcy rolled his eyes at his friend's interruption. "We are speaking of character," said he, "and what an unsociable chap I can be at times."

"Oh, well, then I must have my share in the conversation. Miss Elizabeth, I assure you I do not know a more awful object than Darcy, on particular occasions, and in particular places; at his own house especially, and of a Sunday evening, when he has nothing to do. But don't let his gruff exterior fool you. He is an excellent fellow and a most considerate friend."

Darcy smiled, but Elizabeth thought she could perceive that he was rather disappointed to have their private exchange interrupted. She refrained from laughing at this portrait of Darcy, instead asking Mr Bingley how he was enjoying his foray into the role of landed gentleman. He responded heartily, making a show of bemoaning the voluminous responsibilities involved. "I had rather thought it was all shooting parties and bucolic afternoons, but I do not want to be one of those gentlemen who know nothing about the management of their estates and rely entirely on their steward. Darcy here has been invaluable in helping me learn the ropes, but there is still much that I find challenging."

"That is small surprise, sir," she said. "If you are determined to be a proper manager for your estate, you must reconcile yourself to a _lifetime_ of challenges. The theory might be grasped in a relatively short time – although there will always be new developments in agricultural techniques – but the land itself, and the tenants, are constantly changing. It is hard work, but if done well, brings great satisfaction."

Darcy found it difficult to disguise his grin. Elizabeth's views on estate management matched his own. He waited to hear his friend's answer, eager to know what the lighthearted Bingley would make of such sober advice from such an unexpected source. He was not disappointed.

"My family's wealth comes from the cotton trade, Miss Elizabeth," he said. "It would be easy enough to rely on the mill master, the ship's captain and the warehouse factor to manage my affairs. But that has never been my way. If I am to enjoy the spoils, I must take my share of the work. I have not found that managing an estate is so very different. There are skilled men I rely on for advice and for much of the day-to-day decision-making, but as master, I ought to be the master in reality, not just for appearances' sake. I surely have much to learn, but I am quite enjoying it. I just hope I do not make too many mistakes before I have learnt my way. So many good people depend on me managing well."

Elizabeth applauded Bingley's sentiments. She had worried that he was too much consumed by frivolous enjoyments to take on the responsibility required to be a good estate manager. But the gentleman of leisure had displayed an underlying discipline that spoke well for his character. If the mutual interest obvious between Bingley and Jane developed into something more permanent, her sister would have a partner in life who was more steady and determined than he had appeared on first acquaintance.

She was unaware how closely her pleasure matched that of the tall gentleman standing beside her. Darcy recognized a growing maturity in his friend that he welcomed. Whether the catalyst for Bingley taking a more active interest in his responsibilities was Darcy's example, Bingley's own natural development, or his contemplation of matrimony, Darcy could not say. Whatever the cause, he welcomed the prospect of Bingley stepping out from the shadow of his domineering sisters. With a grin, he declared "There's hope for you, yet, Bingley!"

A footman entered to announce dinner, and Darcy quickly offered his arm to Elizabeth to lead her into the dining room. Bingley had moved with equal rapidity to secure Jane's company for that short walk, leaving Louisa Hurst to take her husband's arm. Without Caroline's insistence on a formal seating arrangement, the party arrayed themselves as they wished at the table: with the pleasing result for each gentleman that he found himself seated beside his lady of choice. Bingley announced that Caroline had expressed the desire to dine in her room so that she could continue to supervise her packing, and therefore that they need not await her before commencing the meal. He signaled to the waiting footman, and the first courses were promptly served.

The convivial company and lively conversation were in sharp contrast to the strained meals they had endured while subject to Caroline Bingley's pointed disdain for Elizabeth and shameless flattery of Darcy. Louisa Hurst felt a little disloyal to her sister to be enjoying the company so much, but only a little: never inclined much to introspection, she was content to appreciate the improved mood rather than dwell upon her sister's self-imposed isolation from it.

After dinner, the Bennet sisters retired early. Jane was tired and needed her rest and Elizabeth welcomed the chance for some solitary reflection. After helping Jane ready for bed and ensuring she was resting comfortably, she sought her own room.

What a remarkable and confusing day this had been.

And how much more so tomorrow promised to be: Caroline Bingley would leave for Scarborough. Louisa Hurst had abandoned her haughty manner and begun to conduct herself as a graceful hostess. Elizabeth now knew for certain that Charles Bingley cared for Jane, which was hardly surprising, but nevertheless was reassuring. More surprising and less reassuring was the news that Fitzwilliam Darcy cared for her!

She was not ready to abandon all her dislike of that gentleman – he had many incivilities to account for, after all. But his conduct today had overthrown all her prior certainties about him. He had been honorable, courteous, apologetic, and even witty. She had even seen him smile, and noted how it transformed his usually stern countenance. Nothing in his manner today had fit the sketch of his character that she had so confidently drawn.

Clearly, she was not so good at sketching character as she had thought. Darcy, Bingley and Louisa Hurst had all surprised her, revealing things she had not suspected them capable of. How could she have been so mistaken? Was it her vanity that had led her to judge them all so quickly and so harshly? Had Mr Darcy's ill-judged words at the assembly, and the Bingley sisters' haughty disdain at the same event, so pricked her pride that she had rushed to judge them all for their worst characteristics, turning a blind eye to any evidence of their better selves? She grew absolutely ashamed of herself. She could not think of her prior views without feeling she had been blind, partial, prejudiced, absurd.

"How despicably I have acted!" she cried. "I, who have prided myself on my discernment! I, who have valued myself on my abilities! Who have often disdained the generous candour of my sister, and gratified my vanity in useless mistrust! How humiliating is this discovery! Yet how just a humiliation! I could not have been more wretchedly blind! Offended by the neglect of a gentleman on the very beginning of our acquaintance, I have courted prepossession and ignorance and driven reason away where he was concerned. 'Til this moment, I never knew myself."

With these thoughts, Elizabeth came to a firm resolution. She might not return Mr Darcy's affections, but was that because she had not taken the trouble to know his true character? From tomorrow, she would give the gentleman the benefit of the doubt. He wished to give her the opportunity to know him better. She would discard all her preconceptions and take that opportunity with an open mind.

Tomorrow, she would start her acquaintance with Mr Darcy afresh.

" _Anger is a short madness." – Horace_

 _Jane Austen's words borrowed with respect and love._

© 2016


	2. Chapter 2

It was a beautiful day. Golden fields ready for harvest were bathed in warm sunlight. Rolling hills on the horizon were cloaked in groves of oak and beech and stands of pine. The nearby promontory of Oakham Mount framed the picturesque village of Meryton at its foot. Darcy was not inclined to waste such glorious weather indoors. He began his campaign at the breakfast table, and it took little effort to convince Charles Bingley to abandon the estate ledgers in favour of a ride to the neighbouring estate of Longbourn to visit the lovely Miss Jane Bennet and her equally lovely sister, Elizabeth.

The ladies had recently been guests at Netherfield Park – Miss Bennet had fallen ill while visiting the Bingley sisters and Miss Elizabeth had come to nurse her back to health. They had returned to their father's estate only yesterday, but it would not be at all improper to inquire as to Miss Bennet's health, and really, _any_ excuse would do for a visit.

Before the morning was far advanced, Darcy and Bingley were astride their horses and cantering toward Meryton: once through the village, it would be only a few minutes further to Longbourn. Both were in high good humour, anticipating seeing their particular Bennet ladies, for each of them had developed a fixed interest in one of the elder Bennet sisters. Luckily for their future friendship, their fancies had turned each to a different sister.

Bingley, an uncomplicated fellow, was cheerfully contemplating the prospect of a walk in the gardens of Longbourn with Miss Jane Bennet on his arm. Darcy, at once more complex than his friend and less sanguine of his lady's affections, hoped for the chance to be teased by Miss Elizabeth Bennet, preferably out of sight of her mother.

He was reflecting on the bewitching way her eyes sparkled as she decided to provoke him into debate, when he realised that Bingley had slowed his mount to approach a group standing in the Meryton high street. Reluctantly abandoning his imaginings, and bringing his focus back to the scene in front of him, Darcy was pleased to see that Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth were among the group. There were some of their younger sisters and several gentlemen with them. Darcy hated meeting new people, but he would put up with much to be in Miss Elizabeth's company. He joined his friend in dismounting and approaching the group.

Bingley addressed Miss Bennet and inquired as to her health. Darcy rolled his eyes – if the lady were still ill, she would hardly be strolling the streets of a village more than a mile from her home. He looked to Miss Elizabeth to see if she shared his amusement at Bingley's poor conversational gambit. Barely had his eyes met hers, however, when he recognised the man standing next to her: that damned benighted deceiver, that despoiler of innocents, that blaggard and cheat, George Wickham!

The greeting he had been about to offer died unspoken, as a flush of anger overtook his visage. He knew if he opened his mouth, he would regret it. He prized his self-control: as a gentleman, he tried diligently to refrain from public displays of emotion. His gaze implacably fixed on Wickham's face, Darcy sought to convey his disgust and outrage to that scoundrel without the need for words. He took some small satisfaction in seeing his old adversary pale and take a half step backward in the face of his rage.

From the edge of his vision, Darcy could not help noticing the confusion and unease evident on Miss Elizabeth's face. She watched the interaction between the two men with close attention, and moved to increase the distance between herself and Wickham. Unhappily for Darcy's peace of mind, her movement took her an equal distance from him. He could not know whether her action indicated a distrust of Wickham alone, or of both of them.

He could say nothing to reassure her: the presence of ladies made it even more important than usual that he maintain his silence. There was nothing he could say to or of that man that was fit for maidenly ears. Darcy swallowed the curses that were boiling in his heart, and simply offered a curt bow to the Bennet ladies before turning away. He had every intention of taking himself from the scene before his manners slipped any further.

As he led his horse a few steps away to find space to mount, he heard Wickham, his voice all insolence and self-assurance: "You must forgive my old friend, Darcy. His manners always were a little lacking." Darcy froze: to leave Miss Elizabeth in the presence of such a cad, knowing he would fill her ears with poison against Darcy and paint himself the better gentleman, went against every instinct. The necessity burned a hole in his gut. Nevertheless, he knew he must depart if he was to retain any semblance of proper conduct. With a supreme effort of will, he raised his arm and placed his hand on the pommel, ready to mount, but found it impossible to continue. It was intolerable to cede the field to George Wickham! He stood uncertainly, one hand grasping the saddle with a fierce grip and the other on his horse's back. Yet he would not look back. He dared not.

"What's the problem, Darcy? Forgotten how to mount a horse, old chap?" Wickham was clearly gloating at seeing off his adversary so quickly. Their whole life, Wickham had relied on Darcy's innate sense of propriety and honour to protect him from public retaliation, no matter how great the provocation. Wickham had worried that his recent near abduction of Georgiana might have pushed Fitzwilliam Darcy beyond his famous self-control, but even then, stuffy old Darcy had just given him a tongue-lashing and sent him on his way with a warning. No, Wickham could rely on Darcy to paint himself in the worst light by proudly stalking away from any confrontation, leaving Wickham to charm the ladies and win them to his side of the battle. For a battle it was.

Seeing Darcy still standing mute, neither mounting his horse nor returning to the fray, Wickham could not resist needling him again: "Come, _old friend_ , will you not acknowledge your father's god son? Or are you too proud to greet the son of your father's steward?"

How _dare_ that man invoke Darcy's beloved father, or the elder Mr Wickham? Those two men had been as beacons to the young Darcy, demonstrating how true men of honour conducted their lives. Neither had understood the base nature of Wickham's son – both had gone to their graves ignorant of his debauchery. Wickham had wasted not a moment before betraying their faith in him. For that ingrate to now pretend that Darcy owed him any consideration on account of their fathers was the height of disrespect to the dead!

Before Darcy could master his temper enough to decide whether to confront Wickham or simply depart, an unknown gentleman rushed from the group to bow so low as to nearly prostrate himself before Darcy. "Mr Darcy, sir, please excuse me for not introducing myself sooner. I had not realised in whose august presence I was! That I should meet with a man of such superior birth in a place such as this … you must imagine my astonishment!" The man was almost breathless with excitement, and in his distracted state Darcy could do nothing but stare incredulously at this remarkable object as it executed a second extravagant bow.

If he hoped for a pause in his interlocutor's speech, however, he was to be disappointed. No sooner was the toady fellow's greasy head raised from his obeisance than he hurried to introduce himself as one William Collins, who claimed the apparently unparalleled honour of holding the living of Hunsford in Kent, at the gift of none other than Darcy's overbearing aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh! With whatever forbearance this odd coincidence might have been borne by Darcy at any other time, we shall never know. In the present circumstances he could not conceal his impatience at the absurd display. Here he was, in the main street of the village, being baited by George Wickham in front of the most fascinating young lady he had ever met. How could he be expected to muster a civil response to a sycophantic fool who had the audacity to address him without an introduction and to convey news about the health of his aunt and cousin as though he were an intimate of the family? It was more than anyone should be asked to endure! Luckily he was so overwhelmed with conflicting emotions that he was unable to determine which to act on: Darcy stood paralysed in mixed anger, outrage, anxiety, shock and distaste, but at least his indecision meant he neither struck Wickham nor poured scorn on Collins.

Wickham watched Collins' address and Darcy's reaction with undisguised delight. How wonderful to see that prig Darcy struggle with the most basic expectations of civility. What an opportunity to display his own superior manners. He honed his words carefully, and was ready to strike as soon as the ridiculous parson drew breath: "Why Mr Collins, I had not realised you were acquainted with Lady Catherine. You will find in her nephew a gentleman of equal pride and condescension to that great lady, although perhaps not so _well mannered_."

He saw the way in which Darcy stiffened, congratulating himself on delivering an insult unknown to anyone but himself and his target: none who knew Lady Catherine, with the apparent exception of Collins, could mistake the meaning of his reference to that lady's appalling manners, but the rest of the party would think the comparison intended as a compliment. That Darcy only grew angrier would confuse the observers and throw his own happy manners into sharp contrast.

Wickham thought Darcy's unhappiness entirely to the credit of his own wit and cunning. He could not know that only two days earlier, Miss Elizabeth Bennet had revealed to Darcy that she had thought him arrogant and rude. Darcy was determined to redeem himself in her opinion, but far from confident that he would succeed in doing so. Now, at their first meeting since Miss Elizabeth had left Netherfield Park, a man who claimed an association going back to childhood accused him of pride and condescension, of poor manners, of disdaining his father's godson because of inferior birth. It could only revive that lady's first impressions, and Darcy could not defend himself without further confirming his lack of gentlemanly restraint.

His initial anger at Wickham had burned itself out, replaced by a paralysing anxiety. His thoughts were entirely on how to avoid confirming all Miss Elizabeth's worst expectations. To leave silently would only seem to prove Wickham's accusations. To remain was equally impossible. But at least he could take his leave properly. Donning as neutral an expression as he could manage, he nodded shortly to Collins and, turning back to the rest of the group, bowed to the Bennet sisters, extending his best wishes for Miss Bennet's good health. He determinedly avoided looking at Wickham and excused himself with tolerable politeness before turning again towards his horse. But his tormentor was not finished. Wickham's venomous spite was evident to Darcy, if not to the others, when he called out, "Still refusing to acknowledge your childhood friend, I see. I am sorry for you, Darcy. Such a proud and resentful spirit must be difficult to reconcile with your Christian duty."

Darcy refused to rise to the bait, but once again was frozen in place before mounting his horse – this time by the unmistakable tones of Miss Elizabeth Bennet: "You, sir, are no gentleman!" Darcy's head fell in shame as he imagined Miss Elizabeth's fiery gaze directed at a point somewhere between his shoulder blades. She had believed Wickham, then. Darcy had once more proved himself ill-mannered. He felt a deep sorrow steal out from his heart, and was steeling himself to the necessity of leaving without looking back, when she continued: "How dare you come amongst us and insult an honourable gentleman in such a way? How dare you importune us with your slanders, as if we have any reason to trust your word? You are a stranger here, Mr Wickham, and as far as I am concerned, you will remain a stranger to me and my family!"

Darcy could scarce credit his ears. Miss Elizabeth was defending his honour! She had not been beguiled by Wickham's charms as his father and sister had been. She recognised the impropriety of Wickham's words – something that most were willing to overlook on account of his charming manner and gentlemanly appearance. Darcy's back straightened, and he longed to turn round and give Elizabeth Bennet a hearty cheer. He knew better, however, and kept to his purpose. There would be a chance later to speak to the lady, without either Wickham or his aunt's creature, Collins, as an audience. It would not do for either to gain a suspicion of how strongly he felt about Miss Elizabeth.

For a third time, he went to mount his horse, only to again be stilled by words from behind him. Wickham, stung by Elizabeth's harsh words, snapped back: "You speak as if I should care! What a fool you are, Miss Bennet, to think I would have any interest in knowing a drab little piece like you! Save your charms for the next cowherd you let under your skirts. I have better taste."

Darcy's self-control fled in a moment. A blinding rage overwhelmed him: he spun on his heel and took the two steps to bring him nose to nose with Wickham before the last word had left the blaggard's sneering lips. A sharp punch to Wickham's jaw knocked the scum to the ground. Darcy loomed over him, fists clenched in righteous anger. "Shut your filthy mouth, Wickham! Not one more word! You are a disgrace!"

It was remarkably satisfying to watch Wickham scramble away from him. A sudden sharp aroma revealed that the wretch had pissed himself. The fear written on his face was that of the habitual bully who finally found the tables turned. Darcy relished his enemy's humiliation, and threw a warning after him, "Take your sorry carcass out of my sight, Wickham. Leave Hertfordshire before the end of the day or I shall set the law on you for unpaid debts. I hold enough of them to have you in the poorhouse for the rest of your life. You have crossed me once too often, _old friend_. I will not give you another chance."

He was so focussed on Wickham – who had now scuttled far enough away to rise to his feet and beat a hasty retreat – that he jumped in shock when someone touched his arm. It took a moment before he recovered himself sufficiently to realise it was the gentle touch of a lady's glove. His gaze rose from the delicate hand on his forearm to see that Elizabeth Bennet had left her sisters to place a restraining hand on his arm. He flushed with shame. What must she think of him, to have behaved like a roughhouse hooligan? He assaulted a man right in front of her, and Lord knows, he had wanted to keep on beating Wickham until his face was a bloody pulp. Surely his savagery had horrified Miss Elizabeth.

Oh, why did the fates bring him face to face with Wickham when Elizabeth Bennet was present?

Wanting to know the worst, he looked to her face, expecting to see disgust or at the least disappointment. He found he could not read her expression: he would have guessed she was looking at him with gentle compassion, if he did not know how little he deserved such grace. He could not hold her gaze, and dropped his eyes to his shoes, waiting mutely for her judgement.

"I do not pretend to understand what is between you and Mr Wickham, sir, but I thank you for your defence of my virtue."

His gaze leapt back to her face. He was confused. Was she thanking him? Did she forgive him for his beastly conduct? Perhaps, but surely now she would not wish to spend time in his company. She would want to distance herself from _both_ the men who had made a spectacle of themselves today. His uncertainty was writ plain on his face for a moment before he mustered an impassive mask to hide his inner turmoil.

"Miss Elizabeth, I apologise. You and your sisters should never have been subjected to such a scene. I ought to have kept my temper. I understand that you will no longer welcome my company, I will leave you now."

"Indeed you should have kept your temper, sir!" interrupted an outraged Mr Collins. "I will thank you to unhand my cousin and take your leave. I have never seen such a display of disgraceful behaviour. Why, the good book enjoins us to conduct ourselves with Christian charity and to turn the other cheek. There can be no excuse for striking another man, and in front of ladies, too. I am sure Lady Catherine will be most seriously displeased when I inform her of it. I must take my fair cousins home immediately so that I can write to Her Ladyship without delay." All trace of servility was now gone, and the greasy little man actually physically removed Miss Elizabeth's hand from Darcy's arm as though he had the right to touch her, and then herded his cousins away much like a farmwife herding a flock of chickens. Like those birds, the younger girls tried to escape his guard and return to the footpath, but he was determined, and without any chance of further comment, Miss Elizabeth and her sisters were on their way home.

Darcy was left standing in the middle of the High Street, with the sobering reflection that he had just been quite properly chastised by the most foolish man he had ever met.

Damn and blast! Were the fates conspiring to prevent him from showing Miss Elizabeth his better nature? How could he have made such a cake of things?

She had said it herself: " _I do not pretend to understand what is between you and Mr Wickham…_ " Of course she didn't. How could she? All she knew was that he had stormed up to a stranger in the street and assaulted him! Damn Wickham! That cad had an uncanny ability to know just what to say to turn Darcy from a restrained gentleman into a street brawler. And Darcy had walked right into his trap.

He should have left as soon as he saw Wickham. He had meant to do so. He should not have allowed that reprobate to turn him from his path. Yet he had waited, and listened, and taken the bait. Yes, Wickham's words were the excuse, but it was his own ill discipline that was really to blame. Would she ever give him another chance? He certainly didn't deserve one.

Darcy stood, his eyes closed and look of despair on his face, his shoulders slumped and arms hanging uselessly by his side.

Bingley, who had observed the whole altercation with wide eyes, watched the lovely Miss Bennet until she was herded out of view by her overly officious cousin, and turned back to his friend. "Well, Darcy, that was unexpected!"

Darcy huffed, and drew his tattered dignity together. "I apologise, Bingley. I don't know what came over me. I am most heartily ashamed."

"Stuff and nonsense! I don't know who that bastard was, but his insults against you and Miss Elizabeth were appalling. Your response was entirely justified. If you had not moved so quickly, I would have taken him to task myself. No gentleman could stand by and allow a lady to be so abused. I am proud of you, man."

Darcy smiled wanly. "I do not deserve your friendship, Bingley. You are truly the best of men. Would you join me for a drink?" With that, the two repaired to the Red Lion for a pint, their intended visit to Longbourn forgotten for the moment. Darcy was further embarrassed when he was congratulated by the barman, who assured him that Miss Elizabeth Bennet was a respected young lady and that the whole town appreciated Darcy's defence of her. The blaggart who had spoken against her had been given no welcome when he sought to drown his sorrows at the inn, and instead had been shown to the edge of town by several of the local lads. "We don't need bastards like that in Meryton, if you'll excuse my language, sirs." Darcy simply nodded and accepted his pint of ale, retreating to a table in the corner with Bingley.

"I'm sorry, Charles, but I suppose that puts the kibosh on our plan to visit the Bennets. We have already seen for ourselves that Miss Bennet is recovered, and we could hardly make an innocuous morning call after that little contretemps! Perhaps tomorrow?"

Bingley scowled. He had set his heart on a walk with Jane Bennet and was not happy to have the chance stolen by that bumbling parson who had hurried them home. "Why _shouldn't_ we go? You have done nothing to be ashamed of, but the longer we stay away the longer that Collins fellow will have to bend Mr and Mrs Bennet's ears with his nonsense. No, it is better that I have a chance to tell the true story before the well is poisoned with his spite."

Darcy was uneasy with the idea of arriving in the Bennet household so soon after such an ignominious display, but Bingley's argument did make sense. His mind was made up when Bingley pointed out that Mr Collins had been showing a marked interest in Miss Elizabeth and had seemed particularly upset with her for approaching Mr Darcy. Darcy's head shot up at this news. His focus had been so strongly on Wickham that he had not even noticed Collins until his absurd little speech about Lady Catherine, and he had not looked at him again until he had had the audacity to tell Darcy off. "What do you mean, a marked interest?" he asked sharply.

"He was standing a little too close to her and, if I don't miss my guess, looking a little too directly at her décolletage. Then when you started glaring at Wickham, he moved even closer to her. You should have seen his face, though, when she went and touched your arm. He was just as angry with her as he was with you. Horrible little man."

"Perhaps we _should_ visit Longbourn. Just to reassure the ladies that Wickham has left town." Darcy drained the last of his pint and looked on impatiently as Bingley more slowly followed suit.

When the gentlemen were ushered into the front parlour at Longbourn a half hour later, they found all the Bennet ladies assembled. The room was silent, although there was the distinct feeling that it had been anything but, only moments before they were announced. Miss Bennet was the first to recall her manners, and she rose quickly to welcome the gentlemen and offer refreshments. A servant was dispatched for tea, and Bingley and Darcy sat down – Bingley next to Jane Bennet and Darcy in the only remaining available place, between Miss Lydia and Miss Mary.

Lydia had no patience with polite conversation, and now that two witnesses of the most exciting events of the day were present, including one of the main protagonists, she could not miss the chance to revisit that most interesting topic. Indeed, it had been all she could speak of since the sisters and their cousin arrived home, ten minutes before Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy arrived. "La, what fun we had in Meryton today, Mr Darcy! I have never been more surprised than I was when you knocked that Mr Wickham down in the street. You are usually such a dry, boring fellow. I did not think you had it in you! You must be a jolly good boxer!"

Elizabeth attempted to silence her sister and divert the conversation to safer ground, but she might as well have been trying to hold back the tide. Her mother and Miss Catherine were as eager as Miss Lydia to discuss what they insisted on viewing as an act of chivalry by Darcy in defence of their sister. Darcy became increasingly discomfited by such foolish approbation of actions he could not but feel merited shame and regret. When Lydia pressed, with a prurient curiosity, for details about Wickham and why he was so rude to Darcy, Darcy stood and walked to the window, where he stood stiffly, one hand held behind his back, and said "I will not speak of that man. His actions are not fit for the ears of young ladies. Suffice it to say that he is not the sort of person anyone should trust either with their credit or their daughters." He then turned and gazed out the window, hoping to put an end to this most distressing conversation.

To his immense relief, Bingley chose that moment to propose a stroll in the garden, and both Jane and Elizabeth eagerly endorsed the suggestion. Mrs Bennet, no doubt with an eye to allowing Bingley time alone with Jane, found she needed the younger girls to help her with some matter or other, so it was only the eldest two sisters who stepped out to walk with the gentlemen. They quickly paired off into one couple who were simply enchanted with each other's company and another who were bursting with things they wanted to say while out of earshot of anyone else.

Darcy found strolling with Elizabeth's hand once more resting on his forearm remarkably calming. No matter the many things he knew he needed to say, he could not help but relish a few moments of silence with the gentle balm of her affectionate touch creating the wonderful illusion that she had forgiven him for his conduct. But Darcy was no fool. He would only have a short opportunity to speak with Miss Elizabeth in private, and he should not waste it.

"Miss Elizabeth, you must allow me to tell you how deeply sorry I am for my conduct in Meryton today. I have only the deepest respect and regard for you, and would not for the world have subjected you to such a scene. A gentleman should protect ladies from violence, not bring it to them. I cannot think upon my actions with anything other than abhorrence. I have no excuse for such violence. You must think me the lowest sort of hoodlum. I came to Longbourn only to assure myself that you had not suffered any lasting distress, and to offer my apology. Now that I have done so, I am sure it will be to your greater comfort for me to remove myself from the neighbourhood. I assure you I will do so promptly.

She raised her left eyebrow. It mesmerised him. Despite his words, he made no move to depart. Instead, he waited for her verdict, certain his whole future depended on it.

"I will be sorry if you do, Mr Darcy. You have proved yourself a true friend today. There is nothing – _nothing_ – for you to apologise for. I am honoured that you would go so far in defence of my reputation. It is now my turn to ask, are you well, sir? Please assure me that this unpleasantness has not distressed you."

Distressed _him_? She was worried about _him_? What a remarkable woman she was! His eyes lit up and a relieved smile lifted the corners of his mouth. "You are too good," he said quietly. "I have behaved abominably, and you should be castigating me for ungentlemanly behaviour."

"Perhaps so, Mr Darcy, but something tells me you have already castigated yourself far more than the affair merits. If there _were_ flaws in your conduct, then you have amply apologised for them, and it would be churlish of me not to forgive you. I am more inclined to think on the very great pleasure I find in the recollection that you were my champion when need arose."

Darcy lifted a hand to rub his nose, attempting to hide his embarrassment at the lady's praise. In doing so, he brought his reddened knuckles into view, and Elizabeth gasped in distress. "You are hurt!" she cried.

"It is nothing," he quickly assured her. "I have suffered worse herding cattle." Indeed, the last time he had sported bruises was when he was bowled over by a troublesome cow the day he assisted one of his tenant farmers to recover his herd after a drywall had been breached. It was simply the first example that sprang to mind, and he could not understand the look of shock on Elizabeth's face. Before he could puzzle it out, her shock was replaced with mirth and she broke into helpless laughter. Still clasping his arm, but now for support, she laughed until tears came to her eyes.

Darcy could not fathom it, but was happy to accept the gift that it was. Surely she could not be laughing so if she was distressed with him? As she gradually recovered command of her countenance, Darcy asked what had given rise to her laughter. She coloured and looked away, avoiding his inquisitive gaze. He was ready to let the matter drop, but she straightened her shoulders and looked up at him, saying, "I have recently been alerted to the possible interest of cowherds in getting under my skirts, sir. I had thought myself safe, as I do not generally spend time in the company of cowherds. Or so I thought. Imagine my surprise to discover that the very gentleman standing before me is in fact a cowherd!" She smiled to see that gentleman's total shock at the image she had evoked. "How could I not find the coincidence amusing, Mr Darcy? I realise that my humour was indecorous in the circumstances, but it was, I assure you, beyond my capacity to control. Perhaps it is the stress of the day, but I found the chance to laugh irresistible."

Darcy did not know where to look. He tried manfully to keep his eyes on her face. There was much to see there: her eyes were sparkling with mirth, her cheeks glowing with a delightful embarrassed blush, and her lips were slightly pursed in challenge. But her words had brought to mind quite another part of her anatomy, and his traitorous eyes kept slipping to the edge of her skirt, imagining what might hide beneath. He cleared his throat and turned away in mortification. First he had acted the savage by striking Wickham, and now his unruly body was trying to reveal quite how much the savage he really was!

Elizabeth's voice came from behind him, low and uncertain, "I am sorry, Mr Darcy. I should not have spoken so. It was uncalled for. Please excuse my words. I am so grateful to you for today. I do not want to spoil our new friendship. I know it was improper to laugh at such a thing …" She was babbling, clearly anxious about his sudden withdrawal. Her nervousness killed his untimely ardour as quickly as her jest had aroused it: he could not but respond to her need for reassurance, and that imperative dissipated the physical arousal that had caused him to turn his back.

Darcy swung around to face her again, crying "No!" with a vigour that made her start in surprise. "No," he repeated, more gently, "do not apologise. You are everything proper and delightful. I would not change a thing about you. Your mischievous sense of humour is one of the many things I admire about you, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and you have not offended me. Far from it! My difficulty was only in being _too_ delighted by your whimsy. I would be honoured to be your cowherd, Miss Elizabeth, but needed to remind myself that I must wait until such a role is sanctioned by your father and the church. If I ever convince you to accept my hand, that is." And he winked. Actually winked. It is difficult to say who was more surprised by that – Darcy or Elizabeth.

Elizabeth knew not what to think. Still recovering from her distress at the thought of losing his regard, she was now facing a man who confessed to ardent desire and spoke of marriage. Was he joking? She didn't think so. Surely he would not joke about such a thing. Yet he had winked at her! Oh, confusing man!

Elizabeth Bennet was not one to be confounded for long. Her courage rose, and she determined that she would discover Mr Darcy's true meaning. If he was merely joking, she would be ready to laugh at his whimsy. If he was more serious … well, if he was at _all_ serious, she would not be at all unhappy to know it. Looking at the gentleman who stood before her with a glint of humour still in his eye, she replied cheekily: "You can have no hope of sanction by my father or the church, sir, without first undertaking that quaint old custom of a proposal. I can't imagine how you might convince me to accept your hand when it has not been offered." She kept her tone light, so that neither of them should be mortified by the conversation should it turn out that Mr Darcy had no intention of offering for her.

She grew nervous when all trace of humour disappeared from that gentleman's face, and he looked most earnestly at her. "Miss Elizabeth, only the day before yesterday you agreed to begin our acquaintance afresh. I hoped to show you a better side of myself than you had seen heretofore. Instead, I have displayed my ungovernable temper. If I thought you might agree, I would offer for you in an instant, but I respect you too much to seek your hand on the basis of any misplaced sense of obligation for my actions today."

"Mr Darcy, I hope you know me well enough to be certain I would never marry without real affection. I honour your forbearance: it must be a novel experience for a man of your wealth and standing to be uncertain of your reception. I must tell you that my opinion of you is now quite different from that I expressed at Netherfield Park. I have had time to reflect on my earlier prejudices, and to reconsider all our interactions in light of my better understanding of your character, and I find myself heartily ashamed of what I thought then. But I assure you that I do not speak out of guilt for my earlier mistakes, nor out of obligation for your gallantry today, when I say that I already think you among the best men of my acquaintance."

Darcy stood before her in amazement. She offered him so much hope that his heart overflowed and, for the third time that day, he found it difficult to behave as a gentleman. He quivered with the effort of not reaching out to caress her cheek. Instead, with a supreme effort of self-control, he bowed deeply and placed a reverent kiss on the back of her hand. Without speaking, he placed her hand back on his arm and recommenced strolling about the garden. He did not deserve such happiness. It was too much. And yet, this wonderful woman who walked at his side no longer disdained him. Instead of prejudicing those who Darcy loved, Wickham's spite had, for once, wrought no harm.

The sound of a dinner bell recalled the wandering couples to the house, and to a boisterous conversation of lace and gowns and local news which the lady of the house seemed capable of maintaining single-handedly, with occasional assistance from her youngest daughters, oblivious to the distraction of her eldest two and their beaux. After dinner the ladies repaired to the parlour while Mr Bennet and his guests lingered over a glass of port.

Mr Bennet had barely finished pouring before Mr Collins began an angry recitation of the events in Meryton that afternoon. He had hoped to tell his host the story before now, but writing to his patroness took precedence, and then Mr Bennet had declined a private audience before dinner. He was not inclined to wait a moment longer, and he would not be deterred by the presence of the gentlemen from Netherfield Park. Those gentlemen nursed their glasses and waited to see how Mr Collins would tell the tale.

"I regret that I must inform you of the most unfortunate events this afternoon, Mr Bennet," he began, his voice rather betraying relish than regret. "I accompanied your daughters on a walk to the village, where Miss Lydia and Miss Catherine displayed a distinct lack of propriety in their hurry to talk to some members of the militia who were promenading in the street. Despite this irregular means of introduction, however, the officers turned out to have the bearing and address of true gentlemen. Your daughters and I were making the acquaintance of a new member of the militia when we were joined by Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy.

"It grieves me to own it, for I never would have imagined that a nephew of my esteemed patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourg could behave so, but your daughters were then subjected to the most outrageous, appalling, ungentlemanly display. I barely know how to tell you, sir, for it will shock you to know what your innocent daughters have been exposed to, and it must distress you to think of what scandal and speculation they will be subject to, for all of Meryton must know the details by now. Indeed, to be associated with such public embarrassment must sully their reputations throughout the community." Here the verbose parson paused to contemplate whether he should alter his own marital intentions in light of his cousins' besmirched reputations.

Mr Bennet seized the opportunity to interrupt, "You have as yet told me nothing more shocking than that my youngest daughters had the audacity to approach gentlemen of their acquaintance in a public place, while in the company of their cousin, a man of the cloth. They might be a little lacking in the finer social graces, Mr Collins, but I think you need not fear the total loss of their reputations from such a lapse. The good people of Meryton are well used to Kitty and Lydia."

"You misunderstand me, Mr Bennet. It was not your daughters who brought on the scorn that must descend on the Bennet name, but Mr Darcy. One of the officers your daughters introduced me to, a Lieutenant Wickham, had only just joined the regiment. He was most gentlemanly in his manner and address, and paid pretty compliments to all the ladies. He even spoke with appropriate reverence of Lady Catherine de Bourg, who he knew through a long association with Mr Darcy's family. Indeed, he was most genteel.

"When Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy encountered our party, Mr Darcy behaved like a ruffian. I am astounded that Lady Catherine would think of connecting her own daughter to such a man. He must hide his true character well when in her presence, or she could not allow his betrothal to his cousin." At this juncture, Darcy fell into a coughing fit, having choked on his port. Bingley pounded his back and offered his sympathy, leaving Collins free to carry on with his circuitous narration.

"Without any provocation, Mr Darcy glared at poor Mr Wickham, near frightening him from our company. Although that might have passed unnoticed – for who can understand the ways of the very rich – Mr Darcy returned a moment later and punched Mr Wickham full on the nose. He offered no excuse for his violence, but spewed insults and threats at an innocent man. It was a shocking scene, sir, and your innocent daughters must forever be associated with it. As a man of the cloth, I cannot condone such violence. I hurried to bring my cousins home, but I fear that the damage to their reputations is already done.

"I feel obliged to inform you of these events, not only because you will need to take steps to repair the damage – perhaps your daughters ought be sent to Hunsford for some months, where my supervision, with the invaluable guidance of Lady Catherine, might restore them to some respectability – but I could not allow you to welcome such a viper in your nest" – this said while glancing nervously at the gentleman from Derbyshire – "not knowing his true nature."

Darcy made to speak, but Mr Bennet held up a hand to silence him. "Thank you, Mr Collins, for your colourful tale. I find myself amazed at such events. I have known Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy for only a short time, and this Lieutenant Wickham not at all. However I suspect that there is more to this tale than you have told me. Perhaps you might share your perspective with me, Mr Bingley?"

Bingley looked anxiously to Darcy, who was clearly unhappy not to be able to put his side of the story. Darcy nodded at his friend, indicating he should comply with Mr Bennet's request. His narrative was a little more collected than Mr Collins', and included mention of Wickham's rudeness. When he came to the point where Wickham had insulted Miss Elizabeth, he blushed and could not find any polite way to describe that man's words. Mr Collins was happy to take up the tale again, however, astounding all three listeners with his idiocy: "Mr Wickham said something about a cowherd getting into Miss Elizabeth's skirts. I can only imagine he was referring to the fact that her hems were six inches deep in mud – she really is a careless walker, something I will endeavour to cure her of in future. In any case, it was a harmless enough remark, and in no way accounts for Mr Darcy's vile behaviour."

Mr Bennet had risen from his seat, and now leant across the table glaring at Mr Collins, his face an interesting shade of red. "Do I understand you rightly, sir? A complete stranger accused Lizzy of letting a cowherd under her skirts?"

Mr Collins was oblivious to his host's anger. "Yes. And then out of the blue, Mr Darcy struck him in the face!"

Mr Bennet turned to Darcy and offered him a hearty handshake. "I thank you sir! You did exactly as I would have done were I present. I am grateful you were there to defend my Lizzy's honour. I must have a word with Colonel Forster about this Wickham. He should be run out of town, not enlisted in service of the Crown!"

"No need for that, sir. It seems the good people of Meryton have already taken care of George Wickham. He will not be seen in these parts again, I expect. Your daughter is highly thought of by the villagers, and they were quick to take offence on her behalf." Darcy drew a deep breath before continuing: "I apologise for losing my temper in front of your daughters, sir. As you might suspect, I have something of a history with Wickham. Despite his easy manners, he is no gentleman, and has ruined many young ladies in his time. Meryton is well rid of him, but it was his hatred of _me_ , and not any particular animosity for Miss Elizabeth, that motivated his insults. If I had left as soon as I realised he was present, he would never have impugned your daughter. Her distress was entirely my fault, and I am sorry I failed to show greater restraint. In that regard, at least, Mr Collins is correct to upbraid me."

Mr Bennet snorted. "It will be a cold day in hell before that fool is correct about anything! I will persist in thanking you, Mr Darcy. If you had walked away, you would have left my daughters in the company of a rake, with only my idiot cousin for protection! No, that would not have done at all."

Mr Collins bridled at this poor appraisal of his intellect. He still had no idea why anyone was speaking of insults to Miss Elizabeth: it was hardly an insult to draw attention to her dirty skirts! He had taken the very best care of his fair cousins, separating them from the thuggish conduct of Mr Darcy. He did not deserve such ridicule from their father, and it was even more humiliating for Mr Bennet to share his disdain with Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy, as though they deserved more consideration than his own cousin and heir! He stood with exaggerated dignity, bowed ostentatiously and left the room without another word.

"I never thought the buffoon would shut up!" exclaimed Mr Bennet as the door closed behind his offended cousin. "Now, shall we join the ladies?"

"A moment, Mr Bennet, if you please," said Darcy. "There is one more thing I wish to discuss with you if you will indulge me for another minute or two."

"I am all curiosity, sir," said Bennet, resuming his seat and leaning back comfortably. A naturally indolent man, his burst of anger had passed quickly, replaced by humour at Mr Collins' absurdity. He now quietly relished the way his distinguished guest moved nervously in his seat. Whatever could such a proud man have to be nervous about?

"Mr Bennet, during her recent stay at Netherfield Park, I have come to greatly admire Miss Elizabeth. I am aware that she has not thought as well of me as I do of her, but she has generously agreed to accept my apologies for my past offences, and to begin our acquaintance anew. I wish to assure you, sir, that my intentions are entirely honourable. If I can win your daughter's affection, I will immediately apply to you for permission to propose. However I do not wish to force her into anything she does not freely embrace. Therefore at this stage I ask your consent for a courtship between myself and Miss Elizabeth."

Bingley looked on, all wide-eyed amazement. His austere friend, notorious for remaining untouched by sentimental attachment, and for caution in all things, was declaring his intentions to Mr Bennet while Bingley, by far the more impulsive of the two, had not yet even spoken of his hopes to the angelic Miss Bennet. How could the world have gone so topsy-turvy?

Mr Bennet was far from ready to discuss parting with his favourite daughter. However after Darcy's actions that day in her defence, he felt that if anyone could deserve such a prize, it might just be the gentleman sitting before him. Still, it was not in his nature to miss an opportunity to tease: "Well, I _am_ surprised, sir. The last I heard, you thought her not handsome enough to tempt you."

Darcy coloured most satisfyingly. "That absurd comment is one of the offences I have apologised to Miss Elizabeth for, sir, and she has been gracious enough to forgive me. I can only assure you that it is some time now that I have thought her the handsomest woman of my acquaintance."

Mr Bennet had mercy on the earnest young man: "You have my blessing, lad. If you can win Lizzy's approval for a courtship, then you have mine. She will not be easy to convince, but she is certainly worth the effort. You might want to consider an informal understanding first, though. If a courtship is announced to the family, then Mrs Bennet will tell the whole neighbourhood that marriage is a certainty. You will find yourself trapped long before you come to the point of actually proposing."

"I would have no objection to that, Mr Bennet. I am certain of my aim: I am determined to win Miss Elizabeth's hand in the end. But I realise that she would not appreciate having that choice taken away from her. I am content to wait until she is ready for a formal announcement. I can only hope that it will not take too long."

After this conversation, the three men finished their port and joined the ladies in the parlour. Mr Collins was not with them, and Mr Bennet later learned from his butler, Hill, that Collins had left for the Meryton Inn, leaving instructions for his trunks to be packed and sent after him. He would not stay another minute in a house where he was so little respected. His absence was little noticed, and regretted not at all.

As twilight drew in, Darcy and Bingley rode home to Netherfield Park. After such a tumultuous day, Darcy was once again lost in thoughts of wooing the lovely Miss Elizabeth, while his friend was forming a new resolution to emulate Darcy's decisiveness in matters of the heart: tomorrow he would declare himself to Miss Bennet. The two contented friends delivered their horses to the stables and entered the house with nary a word spoken between them. Each retired to dream of their Bennet sister.

George Wickham would have been sorely disappointed had he known that Darcy's dreams were undisturbed by the slightest recollection of his old nemesis.

oooOOOooo

 **Author's Note:**

These are the first two chapters in a longer novel published as _**Words Spoken in Anger**_ by Margaret Gale. I think these two chapters stand alone, but if you would like to read more, it is available as an ebook from Kobo and Amazon.


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